


Love Comes in All Forms

by awesomerosie



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Choking, Humor, I don't know what else to tag so if you notice something let me know., Impotence, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, This pairing is kinda messed up but this is Ivar we're talking about, Violence, lots of blood, mild homophobia, the usual things in vikings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 15:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomerosie/pseuds/awesomerosie
Summary: On a raid in England, Ivar encounters someone more resilient than even himself. With deception, humiliation, and a dash of humility, Ivar trudges his way through this new obstacle, and continues his mission to right every wrong.Starts vaguely after Sigurd's...incident and then it doesn't follow the series at all.





	Love Comes in All Forms

**Author's Note:**

> I thought everyone would make him gay because of the whole Margrethe situation, and according to science, he had a high possibility of being gay, but apparently not. Honestly, this is the first character I've written about that had an equal or greater amount of straight fics, something I didn't know could happen on this website.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

Ivar rode his chariot into the village, following a crowd of warriors. It was little more than a single farm, and yet there were more than a dozen people running or fighting against them. Something was amiss. Too many were women, and the majority of them had skin darker than anyone originating from this land.

A blur of color dashed behind a shed, hunkering down behind it. Ivar dismounted his chariot and crawled toward it with a swagger more suited for the bedroom. It thrilled him to chase his prey, to scramble after it as it scurried to what it thought was safety. Oh, how it excited him to know that no matter where it went, he would be there ready to tear it limb from limb and gut it like a fish.

As Ivar turned the corner he hesitated for the first time in his life. This prey was neither the strong warrior prepared to defend his honor, nor was it the frail woman cowering away from anything that might hurt her. This prey was neither, and yet it was both; thin as a woman, but without the usual shape. It puffed itself up as much as it was able and gazed at Ivar like a doe. Its limbs shook even as it tried to appear menacing.

Ivar watched in fascination at this show of strength from something so fragile. A Viking babe could take this creature down, and yet it still tried to defend itself. The sight alone filled him with an odd feeling of pity and admiration. It was evident that it hadn’t made it in this world alone and now it was facing its worst nightmare.

The image almost made Ivar forget the reason he dragged himself over here in the first place. “What is this place?” Ivar asked.

It looked confused. Whether it was because of the language he spoke or because of the question itself Ivar would never know. The twisted bundle of curiosity inside Ivar grew the longer It took to answer.

Bowed lips parted, curving at the ends like It thought this was a joke. “It is a brothel.” Even its voice skirted the line between man and woman.

“What is a brothel?” This was not a word he had learned in his schoolings. Such a seemingly important word should not be left out of these things.

It laughed then, just a puff of breath leaking out from beneath the surprise in its dark eyes. “It is the place men go to bed someone they choose and not the one to which they are tied.”

“This is why you are here? No woman will take you because you are too frail to satisfy her?”

It took offense at that, though It looked more determined than angry at the thought. “I am not here to satisfy a woman. I serve a far greater purpose here.” It crossed its arms, chin jutting into the air like a smug child. “I am an entertainer of men.”

It was Ivar’s turn to laugh. “You act like taking it up the ass is an enjoyable pastime!”

“And you act as if you have never tried it.”

Ivar’s laughter cut short. “Why would I try it? I like women.”

It shifted closer on its knees, mimicking Ivar’s position. Its breath fluttered against Ivar’s skin as it said, “Every man has had the curiosity, but only the bravest have done it.” Ivar spun around and began crawling away, and It called after him, “Wait, where are you going?”

“My curiosity has been sated,” Ivar said, barely looking over his shoulder. “You should run before one of my men finds you.”

Ivar’s prey scrambled after him, scuttling beside him on hands and knees. “Are you not going to capture me?”

“Do you wish me to capture you?” Ivar chuckled as its eyebrows furrowed and it fell behind.

It struggled to its feet as Ivar hoisted himself back into his chariot. It took a glance around at the bodies surrounding them before asking, “You have killed everyone I know, but you wish me to carry on? How am I to live?”

Ivar looked at him with a sinister grin. “In the usual ways, I presume,” and with that, he sped off toward the bulk of his warriors.

~~~

Ivar shifted in his furs, the ache in his legs keeping him awake; something must be wrong with him if he was feeling it again. Too many nights were spent with his body asleep, but his mind running endlessly. Noises from the camp sounded almost like a lullaby to his tired mind, ushering him into a light doze.

Exhaustion quieted Ivar's mind for barely a moment before a sound outside woke him once again. A thump, a groan, shortly followed by someone ducking into his tent. Ivar lay still, watching, waiting.

A dark figure silhouetted in the moonlight crawled closer. A slim arm reached out, settling just next to Ivar's head. The other rested gently atop the furs on his belly. Its head leaned down, drawing steadily nearer.

Ivar snatched the knife from under his pillow and rolled, trapping the mystery figure under him. Fear filled dark eyes as the blade pressed against its neck.

“Please, don't kill me,” It pleaded. “I mean you no harm.”

Ivar pushed harder, digging the blade into its skin. “Why are you in my tent?”

“I wish to please you.” Ivar's nose twitched and It continued, “Bring me with you. As your lover or as your slave I do not care, but take me with you.”

“Why? Why would you want to go with a stranger? I am a heathen to your people.”

“I do not belong here. My family was captured when I was but a young boy. I have nowhere else to be, but I cannot stay here.”

Ivar raised an eyebrow in question, knife hand easing away. “I do not understand. Why offer yourself to a cripple when there are plenty of men here who would take you?”

“Because you do not look at me like I am a lesser being. The men here treat me like a woman. I am not a woman!”

Ivar tittered with amusement, rolling off of the intruder. “No, you just fuck like one.”

“I would show you how much of a man I am in bed,” It rolled onto its side as it spoke, placing a hand on Ivar’s chest, “but you seemed adverse to the idea.”

Ivar picked the hand from his chest and dropped it beside him. “I have no interest in your wiles,” he said turning away once again. “You may stay, though I feel I would have to kill you to make you leave.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

It curled into a ball behind him, taking up as little of the furs as it could manage. If nothing else, It gave a warm presence to an otherwise chilly night.

~~~

The slave proved to be a decent investment overall. It learned quickly. If only his men would refrain from stopping to ogle as it passed. There were plenty of women and slave girls to keep their attention and still they turned from them to stare at It. Every time It bent was especially distracting for some of them. One such incident spurred a sort of brawl that required Ivar’s intervention.

Reidar grabbed the slave by the arm, yanking it away from Gerhard. “I want him first,” he grunted.

“He was about to help me, Reidar,” Gerhard growled, grabbing its other arm. “Back off.”

The slave said something to them but its voice was too light for Ivar to hear from this distance. Inevitably neither understood it as they began tugging on the limbs in their meaty claws, trying to tear it open like a trapped deer.

“Enough,” Ivar muttered, lifting himself onto a log near them. “That is my slave.”

“And?” Reidar challenged, his hold on it loosening. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Well,” Ivar giggled, resting his hands innocently in his lap, “I will have to kill you.” Gerhard let go immediately, Reidar seemed less inclined. “I could ax you in the forehead, or perhaps I should split you down the middle and see how many organs you can survive without?” Ivar tilted his head to the side, casually looking Reidar over before staring right into his eyes, a most unsettling smirk gracing his face. “The choice is yours really, depending upon how long It remains in your grasp.”

Reidar dropped the arm, an unease tensing his muscles. His face turned pleading, eyes and lips bending toward each other in a grimacing smile. “There is no need for any of that, surely.”

Ivar sighed, disappointed in his game being cut short. “I suppose not. Go find some other poor idiot to stick your prick into.”

Gerhard trotted to Reidar, dragging him off in the direction of the slave's tent. The slave ambled to Ivar with a relieved breath leaving its lips. “Thank you, Sire,” It said. “I would have been dead without you.”

Ivar slapped away its affectionate caresses. “They would have compromised and shared you. I do not travel with insolent children.”

It nodded in confused understanding, then kneeled on the ground beside Ivar and asked, “Why did you stop them?”

Ivar froze for barely a moment before saying, “You do not like the way that they look at you.” The amused look on its face prompted Ivar to say, “You never told me your name.”

It smiled up at him and replied, “You never asked.”

“Then I shall ask now. What is your name, oh tiresome slave of mine?”

“I am Matteo, Sire. It means ‘gift from God.’”

Ivar snorted. “Ah yes, a whore is truly a gift from God indeed.”

~~~

Matteo continued to cause trouble. Ivar's show of possession only started an endless supply of homosexual jokes; even worse was the amount of which were told behind his back. None of this was helped by Matteo's insistence on sleeping in Ivar's tent.

“My warriors think I bed you,” Ivar muttered.

Matteo settled in its place a short space away from him, gently laying a hand between them. “Your men think many things, but they have no evidence with which to prove them.”

“They say I am unable to get it up for women.”

“Better that you cannot get it up for women than you cannot get it up at all.”

Ivar turned his head to glare at Matteo. “How do you know that?”

“I know how to speak with many people in the bedroom.” Matteo's finger stroked ever so gently against Ivar's bare shoulder. “I have been taught many languages in my time, but the one I know best is that of the body.” His eyes peered into Ivar's skin as if he could see through every lie Ivar told himself.

~~~

In the coming weeks, Matteo would make no effort to hide his advances toward Ivar. He made it well known to the slaves that only he was allowed to serve Ivar when they supped. Every evening when they returned to camp, Matteo washed the sweat and blood from Ivar's brow and brought him fresh water to drink.

Ivar treated Matteo the same way he treated every other slave in the camp, with disinterest and a mean spirit. He had yet to kill any of them, so it was turning out to be a fairly positive outing. That is to say, until that evening when Matteo spilled an entire jug of ale into Ivar’s lap. Like with any negative situation, Ivar’s first instinct was to grab his ax and swing it at whatever was causing him discomfort.

Ivar swung, watching like time had slowed as the blade made its descent to Matteo’s arm. At the very last possible second, with the ax drawing a thin line of blood, Ivar’s hand froze. He sat motionless, shocked first at the placement and second that his hand had refrained from doing any real damage.

Matteo stared wide-eyed at the blood dripping from his arm onto the dirty ground. No one dared move for fear of Ivar’s wrath. They all watched, some eager and some afraid, waiting to see Ivar’s next move.

This was only the second time in Ivar’s life that he had stopped in the heat of the moment from bloodying whatever stood before him. Ivar did the only thing he could think of doing and said, “You must be protected by the gods.” He carefully removed the ax from Matteo’s skin, tucking it back into the holder on his belt, and then saying louder for his men to hear, “Its bones are like iron, I cannot cut through. It is protected by the gods.”

Matteo stood beside Ivar as he began eating once again, blood flowing more steadily now down his wrist. The feast resumed around them as if nothing had happened when in actuality this should be cause for celebration. Ivar was involved in an incident and everyone lived to tell the tale! But instead, the warriors continued to eat, the slaves served their masters, and Matteo was left with the impossible task of finding someone to serve in his stead or ignore the bleeding of his arm.

Matteo stayed there staring blankly for a moment too long and the choice was snatched away from him. One of the female slaves ushered him away, promising to do well while he was gone. His footsteps dragged as he made his way to the medicine tent and without a word or a glance in either direction, he disappeared from view.

~~~

Ivar’s day usually started with an empty bed and a casual stroll through the forest. He did this in part to scout out the next target and calculate their best strategy, and part to clear his head of any of the night's events. One such innocent stroll through the underbrush resulted in an odd view of Matteo’s bare backside.

One of Matteo’s hands jerked in front of himself and the other gripped at his throat like Ivar would with one of his victims. His thumb pressed just under his jaw and his mouth opened in a silent scream. The other sped up, moving at odd intervals as his eyes rolled back into his head, white liquid falling from his hand onto the leaves below.

Ivar crept in the bushes with a thrill tingling at his spine. He waited until Matteo was tying his trousers back up to make his move. “What were you doing?”

Matteo startled, spinning on his heel, looking ready to run. Deft fingers finished tying and then settled twitchingly at his sides. His face blanked, schooling into the smug look of a person far too old for their skin. “I was pleasuring myself, Sire.”

“I know that,” Ivar huffed, crawling forward, that curious gaze drifting from limb to limb like he could answer his own question with just an observation. “Your other hand, the one at your throat, what was it doing?”

The look of embarrassment that washed over Matteo’s face was far more surprising than anything that had happened so far. The hand Ivar had referred to twitched at Matteo’s side like it wanted to go back to its rightful place. “I was…” Matteo paused, unsure of himself, another surprising feat from a man so sure about his place in the sexual world. “I was choking myself,” he finally said, his gaze focusing anywhere but at Ivar.

Ivar spun his legs around to sit properly in the grass, staring up at Matteo with genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Why?” he asked innocently.

“It feels good,” came Matteo’s immediate answer.

Ivar nodded, lips pursing in understanding. “Would it be the same if it was my hand on your throat?”

The fear and embarrassment drained from Matteo’s face, quickly being replaced by a sly, knowing smirk. “If that is what you wish.”

A tinge of frustration etched into Ivar’s muscles. “I asked what you would feel, not what I wish you to feel.”

“Oh, but, Sire, I feel everything you wish me to feel and more.” Matteo lowered himself to the ground and crawled on hands and knees. “I live to serve you in mind and body.” He picked Ivar’s hand from his lap and placed it against his neck, gaze burning with desire. “I ache for your very touch.”

Ivar’s fingers itched to squeeze, to drag the life from Matteo’s body like he had done to so many others before him. His body burned with a want he had only ever felt on the battlefield. Matteo’s throat moved against his hand, patiently waiting for him to decide.

A stray glance down caused Ivar’s stomach to flip. The bandages wrapping Matteo’s arm lay soaked in his deep crimson lifeblood.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ivar whispered.

Breathy laughter flowed between Ivar’s fingers, carrying with it his own sense of embarrassment. Matteo adjusted Ivar’s thumb, placing it over a beating point on the side of his neck and then did the same with his pointer on the other side. “Press here, do it gently and it will not hurt me.”

Ivar squeezed light as a feather, excruciatingly slowly using more pressure until Matteo gasped for air. He released as if it had burned his hand, scooting away ever so slightly in the dirt. Excitement and fear wove themselves around his spine.

Matteo's eyes fluttered open, thick lashes batting against golden cheeks like the wings of a raven in front of the sunset. “Just like that,” he whispered, out of breath. “You did well.”

Silence echoed through Ivar's head, coating a hundred other thoughts and keeping them quiet as they streamed behind his eyes. The fear lingered, pulsing at the back of his neck, urging him to move before something bad happened.

Ivar moved. He dragged himself away, crawling through the forest in a trance.

~~~

Ivar chose to ignore the happenings in the forest, deciding it better to believe it a dream than an actual event.

Ivar waved Matteo over and patted the dirt beside him. “I have a job for you,” he said, staring out at the river as Matteo sat down.

“Whatever could I help you with, Sire?”

“I wish you to go into town ahead of us.”

“Whatever for, Sire?”

“You will speak with the people there, find out what they are preparing.”

“What if I run away? Will you hunt me down?”

Ivar took a moment to answer, jaw clenching as he ground his teeth in thought. “No. You are free to do as you will.”

“What makes you think I will return then?”

Ivar chuckled under his breath, mumbling, “You have nowhere else to be.”

~~~

Ivar and his warriors sat hunkered down in the outcropping of forest near their latest target. They had been there for nearly half a day, waiting for the right time to strike. Reidar to Ivar’s left seemed the most eager to make a move, threatening more than once to leave Ivar in the dust. Ivar shushed him again, taking hold of the ax at his hip. “Just a few more moments.”

Church bells chimed through the town, calling everyone out of their houses. It was not the Sabbath, but instead a wedding. One of extra importance as the lord of the town was to marry his betrothed.

The townspeople gathered, flocking to the church like chickens to seed. Every one of them unaware of what was fated to become of them. The church doors closed behind the last pair, ushering the town outside into silence. Now it was time to strike.

Ivar waved a hand, calling his men to follow. They crept into town as quiet as mice and soon the church door was surrounded.

Ivar gently pushed the door open and watched as a bride clad in all white walked down the aisle. Her face was veiled, shrouded in darkness, but she walked like one headed toward their demise. Tension carried her through that holy place and nothing more.

Ivar's army snuck in, crowding the entrance with bodies. The Bishop's face grew grave as he stared down the face of death, though he made no mention of it to his people.

Ivar hobbled to a bench and lowered himself onto it, much to the chagrin of the woman nearby. This was a learning experience just as much as it was a raid.

The bride stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to face her future husband. The old man, balding and far fatter than anyone else here, took her hand in his with a grin only describable as predatory. The bishop said things and chanted others, but it was the bride who surprised him.

She glanced at the crowd for the first time since the theatrics began and locked eyes with Ivar across rows of disinterested people. Though her face was partially obscured, Ivar could spot a kindred spirit when he saw one.

Without a word, Ivar stood from his spot, silencing the room with the thump of his crutch. He walked down the aisle, taking great care to stare down the bridegroom as he went. When he got close enough, his attention returned to the bride. He pulled a knife from his belt and offered it to her hilt first.

The whole room watched with bated breath as the bride made her decision. She reached out, hesitating as she touched the rough flesh of his hand, and took the knife in her own. Her fist clenched around the hilt with unpracticed tension.

The bride stepped forward, crowding the bridegroom. “You have defiled many,” she said as the knife raised by her side. “You will never defile again!”

A powerful thrust lodged the blade into the bridegroom's flesh. He gurgled blood and grasped her shoulders for balance. She yanked the blade out and plunged it back in closer to his heart. His eyes grew wide, and with one last bubbling gasp, he fell to the floor dead.

The bride's hands shook as she unveiled her face, pushing stray hairs back and smearing blood across her forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Ivar giggled, only just holding the manic laughter at bay. His gaze scanned the crowd behind them, taking great joy in the horrified looks of the townsfolk. At the back stood Matteo, face a mixture of apprehension and fear. Ivar’s smile faltered, bouncing back as his head swerved back to the bride. “You are welcome,” he said to her, “though I thought it was against your god to kill another Christian.”

Her eyes flickered, blinking rapidly as the reality of what she had done fell upon her shoulders. Her very being faded for a moment before logic won over her religion. “He was not a godly man,” she muttered, eyebrows furrowing with recollection. “He ruined many Christian lives and did not repent of any of his faults. God showed his judgment through my hands this day.”

Ivar clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I see. It is good that you have made peace with your god.” His hand rose to his belt once more, pulling his ax from its holster. It glinted in the light coming through tall windows, carrying a haunting image of Sigurd with it. Ivar’s mind cleared as the ax swung, leaving just the flame of hatred for Christians that Floki and his mother had cared for all his life.

The ax blade connected with the bride’s throat, showering the church in blood. Women screamed and cried. The townsfolk jumped up from their seats, readying themselves to fight the onslaught of Viking weapons heading their way.

The only image that remained in Ivar’s mind after the fight was that of Matteo staring in horror and slipping away, unnoticed by anyone but Ivar.

~~~

Ivar’s bed was cold that night with only his own body to warm it up. He stared through a gap in the cloth, watching dark clouds float through the star-filled sky. The air smelled like rain, fresh and damp, signaling a renewal of things. The first drops pitter-pattered against his tent. The world darkened, solidifying the fear of the unknown inside him.

Leaves crunched outside, sending a jolt of awareness through Ivar’s body. He went rigid, alarm and pain holding him in place as the tent flaps parted. A slim form, far too familiar for his liking, crawled to him, shadows hiding his features. Long fingers reached out to touch Ivar’s face, caressing with a gentleness he had never felt before.

“I wanted to leave you,” Matteo whispered. His hand shook as it stroked down Ivar’s neck. “You kill for little reason, with no thought for the soul stood before you, merely because they are Christian.” Matteo’s gaze drifted downward, unable to look Ivar in the eye any longer. “I wanted to leave you,” he said again, more forcefully than the last, “but these are the same people who took me from my family and forced me into submission.” His head raised, a fire burning behind his eyes. “I wish to kill with you. We shall make the Christians burn.”

Ivar could barely keep the manic grin from his mouth as he surged up, dragging Matteo into a kiss so fierce their teeth clashed. Hands grabbed, searching for purchase as they rutted against each other. Matteo reached low, taking hold of Ivar’s erection and Ivar jolted back, scared of what Matteo may say.

Matteo leaned down to Ivar’s neck, biting the flesh there like a wolf with its prey. His lips brushed under Ivar’s ear like the ghost of a whisper, sending a shiver down his spine, “Take me, Ivar. Use me, hurt me, do whatever it takes, I am yours to command.”

Ivar took this as a challenge. He flipped them, pressing Matteo down with the weight of his body, gripping his throat in a show of dominance. A surge of power flooded his system, urging him on, squeezing Matteo’s throat without a thought. Matteo gasped, clutching Ivar’s wrist even as a look of pure ecstasy coated his features.

Ivar released him and began removing their clothes as Matteo caught his breath, throwing shirt and trousers away despite the chilly night air. Matteo’s skin was soft, unmarred by the scars of training and battle, stretched over bone and fat instead of hardened muscle. Ivar bent his head, scraping blunt teeth over a bony shoulder, relishing in the soft gasp it produced.

Matteo opened his legs, allowing Ivar to settle between them. This place was not as clean. Gnarled scars stretched from his backside down his thighs, carving an image of pain into his skin. The urge to caress, to trace every line with his finger, burst to the forefront of Ivar’s mind.

Barely a moment of hesitation had Matteo offering advice, “You must start with your fingers.”

All caring feelings emptied from Ivar, replacing with a sense of humiliation. Matteo had offered a challenge and now Ivar was failing at it; that would simply not do. Ivar took hold of Matteo’s throat once again, muttering an angered, “I know how it is done.”

Matteo reached under a pile of furs, producing a pot of oil. He held it out to Ivar in a silent offering. Ivar snatched it away, unwilling to admit he had little idea of what he was doing.

Ivar coated his fingers in the oil and thrust one into the awaiting hole. Matteo groaned, pain and pleasure straining what little muscle he had. Ivar thrust his finger in and out, pulling at the rim with each stroke. Just as it was beginning to loosen, he sunk in a second.

Matteo moaned as if he were in pain, but his hips matched each thrust with one of his own. “Now, do it now.”

Ivar withdrew his fingers and slicked his cock up with the oil. He positioned it at Matteo’s entrance, a warbling nervousness making his hand shake. His cock sat half hard in his hand and he pushed it at Matteo’s rim, swearing in his mind when it refused to enter. He gripped Matteo’s hip, angling it with bruising force until Matteo cried out in pain.

With the strength of a man scorned, Ivar flipped Matteo onto his front, snarling in his ear as he forced himself between scarred cheeks. He yanked Matteo’s head up with fingers locked in dark strands, pulling his neck taut as he rutted against him. Matteo swallowed harshly, struggling to breathe under Ivar’s full weight.

No amount of friction would make Ivar’s cock any harder. His body continued to betray him, leaving him in a state of rampant humiliation. Wetness dripped down his cheeks, the frustration having brought him to tears. Ivar rolled away, turning his back on Matteo. “Leave,” he said.

Matteo heaved a breath, clambering up to his hands and knees. “You have not finished.”

“Leave!” Ivar screamed. The tears refused to stop, flowing past his best attempts to dam them up.

Matteo hesitated and Ivar feared he would not go. But soon, Matteo shuffled away, exiting the tent in silence.

Ivar did not sleep that night, instead, he lay awake pondering his role in this world. He spent his whole life before now training, learning and being guided by Floki, the other warriors, and even his father. He would not throw away the hard work he put into becoming the next Ragnar Lothbrok simply because his prick was broken. No, he would use the mind they cultivated to tear down any race that dares to mar his path! He would start with Lagertha, queen of Kattegat.

~~~

Matteo kept his distance the next morning, straying just at the corners of Ivar’s vision and casting worried glances when he thought Ivar was unaware. A part of Ivar longed to call him over, but the louder, dominating voice told him that would be a mistake, that it would be better to kill him and be done with it before he managed to tell anyone else about what happened.

But Matteo was an asset. His presence restored some of the faith the warriors had in Ivar; he may not have children, but the gods had not completely forsaken him. Even beyond that, Matteo had skills that Ivar could never achieve, skills that would come in handy if he ever needed to sneak into a kingdom. They were all better off with Matteo among the living.

The boats were filled to the brim with treasure, floating lower in the water under the weight of it all. With a look of sad indignance, Matteo boarded the boat beside Ivar’s own, eyes cast down as he stumbled onboard and found his sea legs. The journey back to Norway looked to be as long and arduous as it always had been.

Ivar joined his brothers, ignoring raised eyebrows and snide comments from the warriors. This journey would go more quickly if he remained silent about his love life. The men could speculate what they wish, but he would not react.

They were on the water for nearly a full day when it happened. Matteo stood too fast, overbalancing and stumbling over the edge. Ivar saw the fear in his eyes as he plummeted into the sea, watched as he flailed and gasped for air whenever he surfaced. No one moved, merely watched what was happening with a saddened acceptance.

Ivar turned to his brothers and smacked Ubbe on the arm. “What are you doing? Go save him!”

“He cannot swim. He is not built for the sea,” Ubbe said in his annoyingly apologetic tone.

“I cannot swim either, Brother. If I fell in would you not dive in to save me?”

“You are my brother.”

“And he is my lover!” It was not an admission, no, merely a ploy to save Matteo’s hide.

Ubbe stared blank-faced before discarding his shirt and jumping headfirst into the sea. He fished Matteo out of the water and with help, hoisted him into the boat he fell from. Ivar let out a sigh of relief when Ubbe signaled that Matteo was alright.

~~~

Norway was cold when they finally returned, snow already beginning to fall on the heads of relieved children and mourning wives. Lagertha peered over them, searching for a sign of her own son. Her gaze turned cold, switching their target to a certain band of brothers.

“Where is Bjorn?” she asked, the barest hint of accusation coloring her tone.

“He went to the Mediterranean,” Ubbe said as he helped to unload the boats.

“Of course he did,” Lagertha scoffed. She cast a glance around taking an account of what they had brought in before going back the way she came.

Ivar glared at her back, mulling over the idea of slitting her throat right now. It could be done - no one expected the cripple - but he may not become king that way. Revenge for his mother would be best served with an overthrown kingdom. For now, he would wait and strike when it hurt her the most.

Ivar flagged Matteo down, ushering him closer with a jerk of his head. “I have told my brothers of our...relationship. You will sleep in my room tonight.”

Matteo nodded solemnly. “And tomorrow?”

“We shall see.”

~~~

Ivar hobbled into the great hall well after the feast had begun with Matteo following at his heels. He pulled Matteo close, whispering like he had seen so many couples do, “Get Lagertha to like you if you can, but do not become attached.” Matteo signaled his understanding with a single nod and a gentle caress, excellently playing the role he was given.

Matteo slipped away and Ivar joined his brothers off to the side. Hvitserk was well on his way to a drunken stupor with Ubbe acting his role of the sobering elder brother. Ivar sat beside them, right leg splayed out like a skewered boar.

His focus drifted from the conversation happening around him over to Matteo skillfully worming his way into an audience with the queen. The firelight cast his skin to a golden hue, softening his already pliant features.

Lagertha remained blissfully unaware of Ivar’s gaze as they spoke. She smiled at Matteo, accepting the gift of jewels he offered. Something Matteo said had her bursting with laughter, garnering looks from others. His plan was working. Soon her guard would fall, leaving her vulnerable and ripe for the plucking.

~~~

The first night back in Kattegat was usually filled with relief at finally being home. This night however was filled with the dread of sleeping with one eye open in an unknown bed. An unknown bed with a much too comfortable occupant.

“I like the beds here,” Matteo said, patting the mattress below him. “It is soft, but also firm enough for a good fucking.”

“Wonderful,” Ivar muttered, falling onto the end, “go find yourself a man who can do that.” He pulled off his brace more forcefully than usual and hissed as the pain of another break shot up his leg.

Matteo crept up behind him, placing a feather-light kiss to his shoulder. “I do not want just any man.”

“That is unfortunate for you.” Ivar dragged himself to the head of the bed and began yanking unsuccessfully at the furs trapped beneath his lower half. A moment later they jerked out of his grasp and were thrown unceremoniously atop his body. Ivar tugged the fur off his face and glared.

Matteo raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge. “You were struggling. I would hate to leave a poor, frozen cripple here while I seek out the heat of a willing man.”

“I do not like to be helped.”

“And I do not like to be ignored.” Matteo kneeled beside him, hand resting precariously on Ivar’s thigh. “I wish to serve you, whatever that may entail.”

The glare never left Ivar’s eyes, even as he peered into Matteo’s own, searching for a fault in his words. He expertly kept his chin from wobbling when he commanded, “Hold me.”

Matteo’s lips turned up in a smile. “As you wish.”

~~~

Lagertha took most of their findings as “taxes,” giving one more reason for Ivar to hate her to the core, though he would never give her the satisfaction of knowing such things. She knew that he would kill her and that was all she would ever know until the day of reckoning was upon her. The woman pranced around town like a child giddy to experience this fascinating new world; it disgusted him.

It took several days for the great Queen Lagertha to discover the relationship between Matteo and Ivar. Ubbe would never spill the beans on a “secret” of such importance, but Ivar thought surely one of the warriors would. Worse yet, it was only when she accosted him about it that he found out she knew.

Lagertha seated herself near Ivar, careful to remain just out of arm’s reach. “Did you send your lover after me, Ivar?”

“Do you really think I would let someone else kill you?” Ivar shook his head in disappointment and leaned over the table. “I wish to feel you die on my blade. The blood of not just a queen or my mother's killer, but the ex-wife of Ragnar Lothbrok spilt by my own hands, why would I give away such an honor?”

She stared at him with that annoying understanding gaze. “Then he is not part of one of your schemes?”

Ivar chuckled at her audacity. “I can only say that your suspicions are not unwarranted, but they are unnecessary.”

Lagertha stood then, the tension in her muscles only slightly loosened. She returned to her throne and accepted Matteo’s offer of conversation.

~~~

Preparations for winter began, lulling everyone in and around Kattegat into a sense of safety. Ivar and Matteo rested dutifully on the lesser end of the usefulness spectrum and as such, they were mostly left alone. Ivar took to teaching Matteo Norse, warning him that he should never speak it to another lest they find out he was eavesdropping.

Matteo stared at Ivar’s lips as he spoke the words, mouth moving in imitation. Ivar’s sentence drifted off, focus called away by other thoughts

A smirk curled Matteo’s lips, amusement making his eyes sparkle. “What are you thinking about?”

The bubble popped, releasing Ivar’s mind from the world of imagination. He coughed, trying to draw attention away from his staring. “Lagertha’s death,” he said casually. “I was working out the last of the kinks.”

“Of course,” Matteo said, “that is why you licked your lips.”

Ivar shrugged. “I enjoy the taste of victory.”

“Is that why you stared at me like you want to eat me.”

Ivar floundered, unable to come up with an excuse. This always happened with Matteo. Ivar’s brain did not function properly around him.

Matteo chuckled as he stepped around the table. “I wish to try something,” he said, placing a hand on Ivar’s chin, “if you will allow it.”

A war broke out in Ivar’s head between his willingness to let Matteo do anything and his general distrust of everyone and everything. What would Matteo do? Would this thing be as humiliating as all the things they had done before?

After a mental check of all the weapons in the room, Ivar nodded, allowing whatever was to happen to happen. Matteo straddled Ivar’s lap, bringing their chests close and their faces closer. He kissed Ivar with a muted passion, soft yet dominating, giving Ivar every chance to back away. Gentle hands caressed Ivar’s face, neck, shoulders, punctuating each lap of his tongue with practised ease.

Ivar’s breath caught in his throat as every touch sent a pleasant tingle through his body. His hands rested on Matteo’s hips, pulling him closer with a need so enormous and strange, one that instigated every move that he ever made. A warmth simmered low in Ivar’s belly, mimicking the arousal he had felt before, but this was deeper, more whole in its desire.

Matteo pulled back and took a moment to breathe before saying, “You have to trust me.”

Ivar gripped the fabric at Matteo's waist, hesitation and uncertainty running rampant in his mind. To say that he did would be an understatement, but admitting to something so intimate was unlike him.

Matteo pressed their foreheads together, calming Ivar's mind like a mountain breeze. ”Do you trust me?”

How could Ivar say no?

A nod had Matteo brightening with a grin. He stood and pulled Ivar up with him, tugging him gently to the bed. At his direction, Ivar laid down and Matteo went to work taking off his braces.

It felt strange having someone else help him remove his clothes. Even his mother had flinched at the sight of his legs, but Matteo showed no such sign of disgust and, once Ivar's pants were removed, Matteo touched them with a reverence fit for a king. Gentle touches gave way to chaste kisses moving up Ivar's body.

Matteo's movements never sped up, they only became more passionate. He nipped at the skin of Ivar's chest, sucked at his neck, massaged the tension from his muscles, everything to elicit a reaction. When it felt as if he had kissed every bit of Ivar, only then did he remove his own clothes.

The sight of Matteo's own scars made Ivar want to give him the same treatment. He wanted to trace each one with his tongue and bury them in kisses.

Matteo straddled him again, sitting at the very top of Ivar's thighs. His attention lingered on Ivar's cock sitting half hard, as usual, his own rock hard and leaking at the tip. He gave a reassuring smile, taking Ivar's cock in hand, and leaned over to kiss his worry away. “Relax.” He stroked Ivar’s cock slowly, using just enough pressure to feel it.

Coals burned low in Ivar's belly, heat spreading throughout his limbs. He could feel the blood moving inside his body, concentrating in his groin. He was full and empty all at the same time, an invisible force pressing against him from the inside, dragging his hips up in search of more friction.

Ivar whimpered when Matteo’s hand disappeared and moaned when it returned slicker than before. His eyes snapped open, unsure of when they had closed. Matteo smiled at him, leaning down again to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Ivar’s chest flooded with an almost painful sensation, like iron coating his ribcage, terrifying and soothing all at once.

Matteo straddled him again, reaching beneath himself to guide Ivar’s hardened cock to his willing hole. The iron covered Ivar’s anxious heart, keeping him calm in the face of nightmarish memories. Matteo lowered slowly, moaning low in his chest as Ivar’s cock breached him. Ivar’s eyes rolled back when the tight heat enveloped him. His mind stopped, leaving only the sensations.

Matteo paused when their hips were flush, watching as Ivar regained his bearings. “See? It’s not so hard.” He giggled and Ivar groaned with the sudden vibrations around his cock. He rose slowly, always slowly like he might break the spell if he did anything too fast.

Ivar took hold of Matteo’s hip. His head felt off-kilter. Reality twisted and turned around him and the only thing remaining static was Matteo.

The rise and fall of Matteo’s body developed into a rhythm, steadily dragging Ivar to the brink. His moans continued, low and enjoyable, each one sending a pleasant buzz from Ivar’s ears all the way down to his cock.

Ivar’s impatience finally won and his hips bucked up, meeting Matteo’s as they fell. Matteo’s eyes closed, moan rushing out of him with more force, more feeling behind it. A challenge arose to get Matteo to make that noise again. Ivar thrust with every downstroke, staggering the rhythm Matteo built. As they rutted, the embers in his belly burst into open flames. His body contracted and a rush of bliss washed over him, vision blurring beyond recognition. Matteo’s moans and his own panting breaths were the only things left in his mind.

Matteo’s head lay on his shoulder when he regained a sense of the world around him. His limbs felt like mud, all of them too heavy to move.

“Thank you,” Ivar rasped. It seemed like the wrong thing to say, but it was the only thing his sludgy mind could produce.

Matteo kissed his chest, lips curling with tired celebration. “You are welcome.”

~~~

Yule drew close, bringing with it a sense of peace that they would survive another year. At least, most of them would. Lagertha expected nothing. Her defenses fell, and with it so shall her kingdom. The yule feast was Ivar's opportunity. A feast of fancy, dedicated to the gods with drinks flowing all around, it was perfect. Everyone had their part, even the ones unaware of his scheme.

Lagertha took a seat on the throne, Astrid and Torvi taking their places at her side, and the feast commenced. Drink flowed and bellies were filled with the finest meats. When everyone was relaxed and too full to do much of anything, that was Ivar’s time to strike.

Ivar rose unsteadily to his feet, Matteo’s hand on his back to help him. To anyone else, it looked like he had too much to drink. He snatched up his horn and stumbled to the foot of Lagertha’s throne, raising his cup in a toast. “To Lagertha,” he slurred, “oh great and powerful mother killer. May she die a horrible, painful death.”

Lagertha laughed at this, thinking it the mad ramblings of a drunk. She stepped down, reaching out to grip his shoulder like an old friend. Her mouth opened to speak, but Ivar’s mind was already on his next move.

Ivar pulled the knife from his belt and swung. It stopped just short of entering Lagertha’s body, not by his own meaning, but because of Bjorn’s large hand on his wrist.

Lagertha jumped back, startled. Her eyes darted from the blade to Ivar and then to her shieldmaidens already in a standoff with Ivar’s own warriors.

“Release me!” Ivar screamed, yanking at Bjorn’s tight grasp.

Bjorn squeezed Ivar’s hand, flinging the knife away. “I will not let you kill my mother!” He turned to glare, eyes changing to concern as he looked into Ivar’s eyes, and quickly let go of Ivar’s arm. “Your eyes are blue.”

Ivar seethed, already calculating his next move when Matteo popped into his vision. Matteo picked up the knife and stalked toward them like a war-hardened warrior. His hand raised as he stepped behind Lagertha.

Time slowed. Ivar roared as the blade sunk into Lagertha’s neck. Bjorn’s head snapped back to his mother and soon he was charging forward, drawing his own blade.

Ivar launched at Bjorn, wrapping his arms around Bjorn’s neck and letting the weight of his body drag them both to the ground. They landed with a crunch. Ivar cried out in pain even as he choked the life from Bjorn.

“I am your king now, Bjorn!” Ivar roared. “Submit to me or feel my wrath!”

Bjorn slapped uselessly at Ivar’s arms, unwilling to hurt his youngest brother even when his life was at stake. A single tear dripped from his face, sinking into the brace on Ivar's wrist. He dropped his hands, giving up on life in front of everyone. Ivar loosened his hold, peering over Bjorn’s shoulder to check. Bjorn breathed raggedly as he tried to stem the flow of emotion pouring from him in waves.

Ivar’s hold changed, pulling Bjorn close in affection instead of a place of anger. “I am sorry it was your mother.”

~~~

Ivar allowed Lagertha’s death to be mourned. He gave Bjorn a chance to stay in Kattegat, an offer that was rejected. To Hvitserk and Ubbe he gave lands and titles fitting of their status as his elder brothers. And for Matteo, he placed an identical throne on the pedestal.

Ivar and Matteo traveled beyond what they knew, taking treasure and livestock with them back to Norway. The pain and hatred Ivar felt for so long faded as they aged, culminating in wisdom more profound than even his father’s. And eventually, as with most folk, they reached the end of their fates and rose to Valhalla with the rest of Odin’s warriors.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on Tumblr @[RosieWritesRidiculousShit ](https://rosiewritesridiculousshit.tumblr.com) I swear, but I don't bite.


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